With You Forever (Bergman Brothers, #4)

by Chloe Liese

“I’ve never painted a sunrise or a sunset because…I’m not sure I can do them justice. Both times of day, the light changes so quickly, it’s absurdly difficult. I have this fear that I won’t be able to get it right, and it’ll ruin it for me, this thing I love, that’s so beautiful it makes something in me—” He sets a hand over his heart and rubs. “Ache.”

“The deeper you love, the deeper the risk of disappointment, and hurt, and loss. The more you care, the more pain you might face. And yet, I hope you won’t always let that stop you,” I tell him. “Fear of failure, fear of not living up to these standards you hold yourself to, which sound pretty damn high. Because…well, have you ever considered that the depth of feeling for the subject is the reason you’re the very best person to paint it?”

“I know they did their best, and I know, in their way, they love me. But sometimes people love you their best, and it’s still not enough.”

Certain parts of historical romance are highly unrelatable—the marriage mart, the clothing, the elaborate etiquette, the formal language—and yet that’s what makes the stories poignant. Reading about people who look and live and speak so differently from us, yet struggle like we do with their inner demons and outside forces, fight for love in their friendships and families and the people they’ve fallen for, reminds us that not only romantic love, but familial and platonic and sacrificial love is universal, and romance is timeless, that there’s a love story for anyone out there who wants one.”

I gave him a romance novel because they’re a safe place to step deeper into our emotions, the happy ones and the hard ones. To recognize and process complex, sometimes difficult feelings within ourselves that the world tells men, in all its gendered, toxic bullshit, we have no obligation to face and feel, when we really do. As humans, we owe it to ourselves to know our hearts.”

“Just because you experience your emotions differently from other people, Axel, doesn’t mean that experience isn’t valid, or that someone can’t love you for it. With the right person, love is possible for any of us who want it.”

And that’s the best kind of friendship, isn’t it? Friendship that lets laughter and tears hold hands, where grief and gratitude can be friends, not enemies.

Because I…I think I missed you. Because I hate kissing, but I love it when it’s you, and that means something. I don’t know what, and I wish I knew more, but I do know this,” he says roughly, and then he nuzzles me. I don’t know how else to describe it, this tender nudge of his temple against my cheek, the whisper of his mouth over the shell of my ear. “I want to kiss you so badly, it’s obliterated every other thought in my brain. There’s nothing but wanting it. Wanting you.”

And he’s wearing those glorious glasses. What a fucking sight to behold. I smile at him ridiculously, but it can’t be helped. It can’t. “What?” he asks. I hold my fingers to my face in the universal spectacles symbol, making a delicious pink blush rise on his cheekbones. “You wore them just to cheer me up, didn’t you?” He clears his throat and leans back on one elbow, reclining along the bottom of the bed. “Did it work?” “Yes,” I tell him, laughing.

Axel’s now on the threshold, just behind me, hand still in his pocket. I glance back at him and quickly try to mouth, Suck on it. He frowns at me. Willa and Ryder are still doing their usual innocuous bickering, so I mime it. Axel’s eyes widen. “What the fuck was that?” he mutters. “Oh!” I say loud enough for Willa and Ryder to hear. They give us only a distracted glance. Willa has picked up Skugga and is making big, sad eyes at Ryder as she pleads for a cat. “I just remembered, Axel, I need you to come look at the toilet. It was making this weird sound right before they got here.” I yank him with me to the bathroom, stick his finger right in my mouth, and suck it. Air rushes out of Axel as he slams a hand on the wall, steadying himself. My tongue swirls around the ring, before I grip it gently with my teeth, rotate his hand just a little, and twist it right off. Axel stares at me, openmouthed, eyes dark

Sighing heavily, he presses his forehead to my knee. Then he brings his hand gently to my thigh and slides it up to my hip, then back down. “This is cruel.” “Does it hurt?” I ask. “Yes,” he groans. “So bad.” I pause. “I can stop.” “Not the massage,” he mutters. “This.” He squeezes my thigh. “It’s so close to being exactly what I want.” My cheeks heat as I laugh quietly. “I think the muscle relaxer has relaxed your tongue, too.” “Mhmm,” he says, nuzzling the inside of my thigh. “It has. And my tongue doesn’t want to be relaxed. It wants to be busy.”

She glances my way and catches me staring at her. “You’re not watching the sunrise,” she says. “No.” A blush stains her cheeks as she smiles faintly, her expression perplexed. “You love sunrises.” “I love you more.”